


How Brendon Quit the Football Team the First Week

by Merkey666



Series: High School Au [6]
Category: Panic! at the Disco
Genre: F/M, Football, M/M, Sexuality Crisis
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-09
Updated: 2017-06-09
Packaged: 2018-11-11 14:57:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,009
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11150790
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Merkey666/pseuds/Merkey666
Summary: Brendon joined the football team his first year at high school, solely to avoid thinking about certain things. This, of course, backfires massively.





	How Brendon Quit the Football Team the First Week

**Author's Note:**

> This was based off of a tumblr post I saw that absolutely cracked me up. I'm not nearly original enough to come up with something as funny as this on my own. Please tell me what you think, and enjoy!

On Monday Brendon was excited. He was finally old enough to be on the football team. How very American he thought it made him, even when he didn’t always agree with America. He’d always wanted that classic high school experience, with the cheerleaders and the football team, and the way everyone is portrayed as living the dream. He knew it wasn’t going to be like that at all, but he was willing to try his best to get as close as he could to that fantasy.  

His mother had been patronizing him about it for weeks, hitting him with those “are you sure you can tackle your school work and practice?” and those encouraging “it’s a lot, Brendon”’s. It hadn’t damaged his confidence, but it hadn’t boosted it either. He was walking the line, and he felt fine with that. The previous week, he’d practiced like hell, tried out for the team and made it, and gotten an A on his biology quiz. His mother was proud, albeit still concerned for how the extra workload would impact his mental health. Brendon wasn’t bothered by it because he felt passionate towards his goal, and damn it, he was going to reach it. It’s alls well that ends well, right?

On Monday afternoon, after the final bell, Brendon raced to the track. He hadn’t even had time to say goodbye to Dallon, something that did not go unnoticed by either boys. Brendon was the first in the locker room, and as the other kids piled in, definitely the most enthusiastic. Some looked like they hadn’t expected to make the team, and others were returning players, tired and overwhelmed with yet another year in front of them. Quickly changing into the uniform he’d picked up Friday afternoon and shown off to all of his friends on both days of the weekend, he was practically bouncing off the walls with excitement. Some older team members were significantly off-put by Brendon’s giddiness, while others looked hatefully at him. Even Brendon’s own shadow, reflected off of him by the stone cold yellow ceiling lights, looked tired. Yet above all, no one looked nearly as tired at the coach. No one. 

“Alright, stinkers, let’s hustle up and get out there. Practice is only two hours on Monday, so hop to it,” he mumbled unenthusiastically. Only two hours? Brendon was appalled. Yet when he began to trudge around the track at minimum pace to “save energy” he began to understand their exasperation. After what felt like fifty laps around the muddy track, in outfits that felt like weights, the coach called them to the center. 

“For all of you newbies, I’ll warn you now. Football isn’t as glorious as it looks on TV. What you see when you watch Grease isn’t what you get on the field. Do you know what it feels like to catch someone’s padded shoulder in the neck? Let me tell you, it feels like swallowing a duck whole. I would know,” he grumbled. Brendon made a face at the lumpy ground. “Anyway, since some of you still seem to this this will help you pass P.E. with flying colors, let this next exercise be a wake up call. This isn’t a free pass on P.E., this is P.E. 2.0. Thirty suicide drills! Go!” And the team sped off. Brendon, out of breath by run five, was on the brink of an asthma attack by the time it was finished, and he didn’t even have asthma. He collapsed on the grass on his back, staring at the grey sky in agony. A young man stood over him sympathetically, and held out a hand. Brendon refused it at first, not wanting to do anything near standing, but the man seemed to insist. 

Brendon sent him a pleading look, and the guy relented and sat down next to him. “Coach isn’t going to be happy to find you sitting down on the job,” he murmured. Brendon didn’t care, all he wanted was to be able to breathe. It took him a few minutes to regain enough oxygen in his blood, but eventually he spluttered out,

“And yet you’re sitting down next to me.” The kid looked at him and smirked, shaking his head disapprovingly.

“Only as long as coach has his back turned. You see his left eye? Looks a little milky, right? We have this theory he’s going blind, and we’re doing as much as we can to try and prove it. If we can prove it, we can get away with more things. The closer you are without him seeing, or, depending what angle you’re at, the more points you receive. If he catches you, he makes up some ridiculous punishment. You win some, you lose some,” the boy whispered.

“Points?” Brendon asked weakly. He assumed the “we” was referring to the team, and he wasn’t going to ask to clarify. He limited his vocal activity, something so very rare for him. 

“It’s sort of like street credit, only it’s in high school and with the coach of the shitty football team. There’s not a whole lot to do if your IQ is lower than your self esteem and you’re playing football for your image. You take what you can get, I guess.”

“Way to self-depreciate.”

The kid laughed. “No, I play for fun. I genuinely like working out and playing sports. Crazy, right? Everyone has their things, plus it’s nice to have to be around cheerleaders for a few extra hours. Girls ogle just as much as the guys do.”

“Equality,” Brendon mumbled. 

“Exactly. Anyway, I’m Andy, and- OH SHIT-“ he bolted up, just as the coach turned around. 

“URIE! WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOING ON THE GROUND?! GET UP AND GIVE ME TWENTY PUSH-UPS. GO!” Andy laughed from a few feet away, as Brendon groaned from the ground. The coach marched over, and helped him up roughly.

“This team isn’t for lazy kids, Urie. I don’t know what kind of show you think I’m running here-“

“Definitely the kind that’s more infomercial than content.”

“-But I do not have time for kids like you on this team. Why’d you even join, boy?” 

“To keep my mind busy, sir. There’s some things I’d rather not be thinking about right now.” That wasn’t a lie, but he wasn’t about to divulge into details either. 

“Fair enough. Give me those twenty push-ups and we’ll call it even. I’ve got my eyes on you, kid.”

“Eye,” Brendon mumbled.

“What’d you say?”

“Nothing, sir.” 

~

On Tuesday, there was no practice. Brendon, the very same one who was rearing to go the day before, was one big ball of aching muscles and sleep deprivation. Everyone noticed, of course, not that they were ones to talk. It was September at that point, and the last dangling bits of summer were finally dying off, and it stung. The students of East High stared into the abyss of school and it stared back.

Brendon no longer took for granted that football took care of your P.E. credits, as when Dallon and his other friends were off to P.E., already tired despite the early hour and their lack of involvement in football, Brendon went directly to the library. He sat down in the squishy chair in the corner, his favorite one, and pulled out an eye mask. He curled up into a little ball and pulled it over his eyes. His strained muscles didn’t enjoy the tight position, but if it meant sleep, then he was all for it. He wanted Dallon’s whining out of his ears. Dallon didn’t get to complain about running a few laps in P.E.. He didn’t even know the meaning of tired, according to Brendon. 

“I see you came prepared,” a cocky voice said. Brendon flipped up his mask and stared at the kid on the opposite chair. It was the same one from practice, and he was completely covered by a blanket, and his hat was pulled down over his eyes.

“Oh, look, it’s the football player that breaks all stereotypes!” Brendon grumbled sarcastically. The kid, named Andy, apparently, laughed and scooted his chair over closer to Brendon. He held out part of his overly sized blanket as an offering to Brendon. Brendon smiled politely and wrapped what he could get his hands on around himself, suddenly pulling his own chair closer to the kid he’d only just met. 

“You never told me your name,” Andy muttered, suddenly withdrawing the blanket. “Blanket for name.” Brendon didn’t appreciate the demand, but he wasn’t about to pitch a fit.

“Brendon. Can I please have the blanket back now?”

“I don’t know, can you?” Brendon blinked at him, and rolled over, curling into a ball the other way, smiling once he heard Andy’s laughter ring through the library. The librarian shushed him from the desk, giving him a glare that could barely be seen under her immense layers of wrinkles. 

“May I please borrow your blanket?” Brendon corrected himself. Andy smiled and funneled out his portion of the blanket. It only then hit Brendon how weird his situation was, but the library was too chilly to make his care. Andy’s chair was pressed up next to his all of the sudden, and the hat was back over his face. Brendon smiled to himself, enjoying the quiet of the library, and the soft blanket that cuddled his aching body.

“Thank you,” Brendon whispered, not sure if Andy was still awake to hear him or not. He saw the corners of Andy’s mouth twitch up in a small smile, and Brendon blushed immodestly. He quickly pulled the mask over his eyes and tried to hide his face in the blanket, which he knew was completely redundant since Andy wasn’t even looking at him. Brendon’d brain had been trying to tell himself something for far too long, and football wasn’t exactly helping him ignore it like he’d hoped. 

~

On Wednesday there was practice again, only that time Brendon entered the locker room with the same amount of enthusiasm as everyone else. His arms and legs and back and stomach and feet and hands and everywhere else he could think of still hadn’t healed and he was sure the internal bruising he’d sustained would never go away. One older kid stopped him just before he reached his locker.

“Damn, I was hoping you’d still be happy-go-lucky this time too. Your jumpiness really made me remember what it felt like to be alive again. Oh, well,” the kid sighed, letting him pass. To say the least, that scarred Brendon for the rest of the day. While he tried not to dwell over how incredibly terrifying that interaction had been, practice went on normally. Brendon had found himself quite fond of the blindness game that the team had concocted, and fond of his new friend as well. Andy wasn’t in any of his classes, which was alright since he was sure Andy wouldn’t like his friends nearly as much as Brendon did. He’d found out quite a bit about the new kid over lunch on Tuesday, since he was forced to sit with the team that day. Andy didn’t appreciate it either, so the two sat on the end and chatted about drumming and their other friends instead. Andy was apparently an avid drummer, with a best friend named Joe who was also not in any of Brendon’s classes. He was later informed that was because both Andy and Joe were a year ahead of him. 

“URIE!” the familiar call snapped Brendon right out of his daydreams. “Is that how you think you’re supposed to tackle? You tackle like a girl!”

“That’s totally sexist,” Brendon spat. The coach was caught off guard.

“It’s just a term, kid-“

“Yes, a sexist term. One used by sexists. A term. For sexists.”

“Okay, forget it. Just explain to me how diving out of the way is supposed to tackle your opponent?” the coach asked, exasperated. Brendon liked where the conversation was going already. He liked his relationship with the coach immensely. It was such a beautiful thing to have a teacher you can talk back to and in return get punished by working out, Andy had told him. In retrospect, it wasn’t the worst thing Brendon could think of. 

“I want to avoid getting my eyes poked out, sir. I already need glasses,” Brendon replied.

“That’s what the helmet is for, son! Try doing it like this-“

“Oh, I see. Sorry, couldn’t see your demonstration the first time around, must’ve been something in my eye. Pollen from those irises, I assume. Maybe there were just too many of your pupils in my way.” The coach was silent for a second. Brendon could see some members of the team, Andy included, fighting to hold back their laughter from behind him, and at his sides. 

“Is there something you’re insinuating?”

“Nope, just being as clear as can be. Surely you see I’m being honest, sir.” Andy snorted, and the coach whirled around. Brendon took that moment to moon the coach, earning howls of laughter from Andy and the rest of the team. Of course, the coach didn’t catch it because of his eye, which Brendon found endlessly hilarious. 

Brendon went for the word record of most eye related puns in one sitting during that three hour practice span. He decided that day that with the combined pleasures of mocking his coach and not thinking about the things that were bugging him. It wasn’t too bad to be surrounded by nice guys either, since most of his friends were dicks. 

~

On Thursday there wasn’t technically practice, however Andy dragged him out anyway during lunch. He claimed it was for important football related things, however Brendon found himself in the auditorium watching the cheer squad practice. He would’ve thought he’d enjoyed such a thing like that, but he just couldn’t find the joy at that time. Andy was probably the only one to notice.

“Is this what you guys do? Watch the girls? I’ve gotta say, it’s not too bad,” Brendon murmured under the intense volume of the sound system. Andy snorted, looking at the cluster of guys behind the two.

“Ah, you know. It is for some. It just depends, you feel me? People are people, they like who they like and it’s not really that big of a deal. The world makes everything out to be so much worse than it is. The whole watching the girls thing is definitely a little bit perv-y, even for someone as straight as I am,” Andy said calmly. It nearly brought tears to Brendon’s eyes. It was wild to hear someone speak so calmly about something that was life destroying to others, and Brendon appreciated how calm Andy was. 

The two ate their lunches in peace, trying to not vomit over the choices in songs, all of which were pop, and quite frankly, irritating. Football was not, in fact, helping Brendon procrastinate having The Talk with himself, but rather forcing him violently to take into account the world he thought he knew. It was like having a dream about going to an amusement park and waking up and being on a roller coaster. 

“Not your cup of tea?” Andy took a stab, later on. It caught Brendon off guard, mouth stuffed with sandwich and mental state not nearly contained enough for him to answer honestly.

“Huh? Oh, uh I guess, I mean-“

“It’s whatever, Brendon. Really. Just eat your sandwich and relax. Believe it or not, but coach was right when he said football players aren’t the TV stereotypes. There’s not a ‘no homo bro’ sign on the locker room door, is there?” Brendon nearly choked on his sandwich, and tried not to let lettuce fall out of his mouth as he laughed. Andy laughed with him, which made him feel better about the conversation. It was easier to brush off. 

“So,” Brendon began, once his mouth was no longer filled with sandwich innards. “Are you dating anyone?” Andy shrugged and looked out into the sea of cheerleaders.

“Nope. Don’t really want to either, I just don’t really have anything to put forward right now. Time, effort, care. I am a broken shell of a man, Brendon,” Andy said seriously. Brendon was frozen for a second, wondering if that was really how Andy thought of himself, but Andy cracked a smile the moment he looked Brendon in the eyes, and burst out laughing. Andy later confirmed what he said was true, aside from the broken shell of a man part. Brendon laughed about that comment in bed that night, at those times he found himself thinking about his team and how ungodly sore he was. It made his heart race to think about anything other than football because that was the only distraction he had going for him at that point. 

He didn’t like the heart racing, breathless feeling he got, but he knew he’d have to do it someday. Good thing football season was long. He had time. If he didn’t sock the coach in the neck for making him do extra suicide drills. His calves were screaming in pain, and he felt like that was part of the reason he was always up so late, not sleeping, and forced to think by himself. 

He instead made himself laugh at Andy’s comment, and then his mind swirled back down and around to his dilemma. His breath started to catch in his throat, and his heart rate quickened, and he didn’t like it one bit. He threw himself out of bed and began pacing, just so that he could move. If he could move he could breathe, and if he could breathe, he could think. Andy had been so kind during lunch and he’d made it all seem so simple, and then the most wonderful epiphany hit Brendon.

Maybe it sounded simple because it was.

That sounded great, to know everything about yourself, to be confident to such a level, and to put that level of faith in the world (even though Andy was conspiracy nut number one). Brendon didn’t think he composed that level of confidence quite yet, but still the idea of it being there lured him into having that talk with himself. Only, it wasn’t really much of a talk. It was more along the lines of his heart going “say it” and his brain, tied up, screaming “NEVER”. He stopped pacing altogether, realizing he was going to have to say it, and looked at himself in the mirror.

“There is no problem,” he told himself. “Everything is the same. Nothing changes.” But he couldn’t quite make himself believe it.

~

On Friday, it took a different kind of strength for Brendon to be able to pull himself out of bed. It wasn’t only that he’d been up half the night, it was also that he once again had practice after school and his entire body moaned in agony at the very thought of it. His mother looked pityingly at him with every glance she sent, looking at her “broken shell of a son” mournfully. Brendon was being hard on himself just as much mentally as he was physically, and he decided that was the root of how terrible he looked. 

“It’s just the demon eating my mortal flesh. Once I take another soul, I will absorb the youth back into me once again, and then I will be beautiful once more. It’ll be fine, Dallon,” Brendon had said. Dallon sent him a look and walked away as quickly as possible. 

That day was rough on Brendon because his specifically “at home” problems just were not staying at home anymore, and that was seriously conflicting with his will to learn, which was already very low. He tried to trick himself into having fun in every class, in hopes that the day would go faster for him. It did not work. Even during lunch he looked around for Andy, who was nowhere to be found. It brought him down, and it brought down his friends, who were seriously beginning to feel left out. Lindsey threatened to join the cheerleading squad. 

At long last the time slipped away, and the final bell rang. Brendon, while not exactly running to the locker room, was significantly more excited for practice than he had been on Wednesday. Somewhere between the scale of Monday to Wednesday. He felt every week was going to be like that, and he wasn’t sure he could take it. The only reason he was on the team was Andy, and maybe because he secretly enjoyed mooning his teacher and nearly getting suffocated by running up and down flights of stairs a billion times. That, and because it was keeping his mind off of his problems, for the most part. 

Yet even during practice that day, Brendon was off his game. Andy probably noticed, but said nothing, using his Jedi mind powers to understand the way Brendon worked. Andy tossed him the football, which he caught, but only barely. He didn’t have to be remarkable, since it was only the first week, but he did have to be good enough to stay on the team, and Brendon wasn’t so sure he could even uphold that. Andy, who was talking about Star Wars again, waved for Brendon to throw the ball. He chucked it, and it whirled, landing about ten feet from Andy. 

Brendon was fed up with catch. 

Andy threw the ball back, and it slipped through Brendon’s arms by about five feet. His mind said it was because he was too busy listening to Andy rant about Jabba the Hut, but his heart said he was full of bullshit and he knew it. His heart was right. He did know it. Brendon squeezed the ball angrily with his hands, trying to focus and keep any worries out of his head. His friends helped keep his anxiety at bay, and he was not ready to have a panic attack on the football field. His hands shook as he readied to throw, and if he’d known his coach was watching, he’d maybe have put more effort into not trying to destroy the ball in midair with his rage. 

“URIE!” Brendon rolled his eyes and turned bitterly. His anxiety whooped at the coach, who was marching over with his hands on his hips and his clipboard disagreed about fifteen feet back. As he walked over, he saw some guys turn every so slightly to catch some of Brendon’s wonderful come-backs. They were smiling. 

“Son, it looks like you’re having some trouble throwing straight-“ And without missing a beat, Brendon exclaimed,

“I’m having more trouble trying to be straight!” The field got very quiet for a few moments, as Brendon turned as red as their jerseys. He saw Andy over the coaches shoulder, hands on knees, laughing so hard he was dead silent. Coach shook his head and sighed.

“Just throw the damn ball, Brendon.” 

~

Brendon felt much better after getting that out of his system, even though it wasn’t exactly the full story. He no longer felt the need to have such a painful distraction from his thoughts, since the outburst on the field was his own way of coming to terms with his new feelings and such. It took him a little while, AKA the weekend, to finally feel confident enough to use the word bisexual in regards to himself, but he was right all along. The goal was worth reaching, and being confident was just as good as imagined. Andy apologized for laughing, but Brendon was pretty sure that was what made it all feel okay to him. Somehow, everything Andy did made everything else feel a little bit more okay, and he liked that. Andy and Brendon stayed close friends because together they both made the world seem a little bit more okay.

Even if Brendon never went back to football practice.


End file.
